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Sunday, 24 July 2011

Winehouse, Women and Song

Nothing much left to say.  The obvious things - her joining the "stupid club" of musical self-destructive genuises of 27 who die young of excess - the tragic waste - the talent - were obvious.  The moment I saw the news, though, I was shaken.  Amy Winehouse, unlike Adele, actually was a genius - a genuinely troubled soul, with the ability to sing her heart out.  The Beatles had Martin; she had Ronson.  She declined almost as soon as she reached the heights in 2006.  Five years was a long time to falter in public, and her missing out on the Bond theme, and the broken promises and failed rehab stints, as well as the late-night punch ups and fall-downs began to create a counter-canon of pathos, or bathos.  What I cannot accept is that no one cared enough to intervene and put a stop to the ruinous life mistakes.  Too many of the tweeting names who apparently loved here are hedonistic night-livers with one foot in the grave themselves, up to their necks in dope and crack.  Conductors of chaos, they could no more get her off those tracks than halt the engines of excess; those closest to her egged her on, more than they carried her away, to a safer, saner, environment.  So - we have a handful of classic songs, likely to be standards, and a myth that's been made.  What we don't have is a living person, anymore, who could have sung to us for far longer, under better circumstances.  Fade to Black.
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